Chapter 238: A Sakura Nation We Can Control Is a Good Sakura Nation

Wang Wenwu took a deep breath: "So your plan is to achieve a peace treaty before Japan collapses completely?"

"Yes." Chen Feng nodded, "A collapsed Japan is no good for us. A Sakura Nation that retains a basic framework, can pay reparations, open markets, and be under our control is a good Sakura Nation. But to make this framework obey, we must first break a few of its bones."

Zhou Tieshan finished recording the command, then suddenly asked: "President, do you think… might we be going too far? Historically, when a victorious nation oppresses the defeated excessively, it often plants the seeds of revenge."

This question made the room briefly quiet.

Chen Feng walked back to the window, looking at the sky of Dubai. After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice very calm:

"Director Zhou, do you know why I chose to fight that battle in the East Sea?"

"To establish our maritime power in the Far East?"

"Not entirely." Chen Feng turned, eyes sharp, "More importantly, to shatter a myth—that yellow‑skinned peoples are inferior to white‑skinned peoples. The Sakura Nation won against Russia in the Russo‑Japanese War, but the Western world said it was luck, that the Russians were stupid. Now we will use a far greater disparity and a more thorough victory to tell the world: Yazhou people can not only defeat Europeans, but can, with the most advanced technology, employ tactics they cannot imagine."

He paused, his tone deepening: "But for this myth to hold, there can be no mercy. The Sakura Nation must be completely subjugated, subjugated to the point that even thoughts of revenge are unthinkable. Subjugated to the point that the next generation of Sakura people, when they mention Lanfang, feel not hatred but awe. Subjugated to the point that they willingly learn our language, imitate our system, purchase our goods."

"So this knife," he concluded, his finger tracing in the air, "must cut slowly, cut deep, cut to the bone. Let them remember this pain for a lifetime."

East Sea · Battleship Yangtze

The sea wind, salty and fishy, poured into the bridge. Zhang Zhen, wearing a dark blue wool coat, stood before the radar screen. On the screen, a dozen green dots drifted slowly, like fireflies crawling in darkness.

"Distance nearest twenty‑five nautical miles, bearing 080, speed 14 knots." the radar officer reported, "Target characteristic analysis… a seven‑thousand‑ton cargo ship, possibly a grain transport."

Chen Qiming added beside him: "Route analysis shows these ships are trying night, near‑coast routes to avoid our main patrol zones. Some even hug the coastline within three nautical miles, using land‑based radar clutter for cover."

"Smart." Zhang Zhen nodded, "but not smart enough."

He walked to the chart table, where dense markings recorded the past two months of hunt logs. From Kyushu to Honshu, from the Sea of Japan to the Pacific, red arrows and black crosses wove a death net.

"Position of the submarine units?"

"U‑19 formation at the northern mouth of the Tsushima Strait, U‑22 near the Tsugaru Strait, U‑25 off Honshu's east coast." Chen Qiming moved his finger on the chart, "As you requested, we have built a three‑layer interception net. Large merchant ships hardly dare long‑range routes now, and these…" he pointed at the radar screen, "are all adventurers clinging to luck."

Zhang Zhen stared at those dots for a few seconds, then suddenly asked: "What's the date today?"

"October seventeenth."

"Two months and seven days," Zhang Zhen calculated, "the sunk tonnage is almost eight hundred thousand, right?"

"Seven hundred ninety‑eight thousand, the battle report this morning." Chen Qiming's voice lowered, "Sir, some captains privately reported… after hitting merchant ships so much, it feels wrong. Yesterday U‑19 sank the 'Spring Day Maru'; on its lifeboat was a child, looks under ten. He's the captain's son, following his father's voyages."

The bridge fell quiet. Several young staff officers glanced at Zhang Zhen.

Zhang Zhen showed little expression, just walked to the observation window, looking at the black sea outside. In the distance a few fishing lights flickered, weak as if ready to be swallowed by darkness.

"Do the psychological work." Zhang Zhen said, "Tell every officer and soldier: they are not targeting TS civilians, they are carrying out a strategic mission. Every torpedo, every artillery round, paves the way for ultimate peace. When the war ends, history will remember their contribution."

He looked back at the radar screen: "Now, execute the order. Target the cargo ship beyond twenty‑five nautical miles, dispatch the Huai River to intercept. Old rule—warn first, if it doesn't stop, sink it. Rescue crew if possible, bring them aboard for supervision, release them when they dock next."

"Yes!"

The order was given. Yangtze transmitted the command via light signals to Huai River three nautical miles out. The four‑ten‑thousand‑ton giant turned, its eight Main Guns glinting coldly under the moonlight.

Zhang Zhen returned to his cabin, closed the door. He pulled a leather notebook from a drawer, opened it. Inside was not a combat log but scattered notes:

September 25, sank "Fusang Maru", crew 43, rescued 31. Captain refused to abandon ship, went down with it.

October 3, bombarded Wu Port, destroyed Dock No. 3. Observed fire spreading in civilian area, not intentional.

*October 12, U‑22 report, sank fishing boat "Second Showa Maru", all eight aboard were fishermen. Boat captain requests psychological counseling. *

He wrote on the latest page:

October 17, tonight more will die. They may be fathers, sons, husbands. The evil of war lies in turning killing into numbers, turning sin into orders. But I must do it, because the cost of not doing it is greater. May history forgive us all.

He closed the notebook, locked it back in the drawer. When he pushed the cabin door open again and stepped onto the bridge, his face regained that steel‑like calm.

"Huai River report, target refused to stop, accelerating away," the communications officer said.

Zhang Zhen glanced at the radar screen; the dot indeed accelerated, from 14 knots to 16 knots, desperately heading toward the coast.

"Fire warning shells."

Seconds later, distant sea surface lit up with three bursts—Huai River's 105‑mm secondary gun erupted three water columns three hundred meters ahead of the cargo ship. By international custom, this is the final warning.

But the cargo ship did not stop, instead began a zigzag maneuver, clearly trying to make targeting harder.

"Stupid." Zhang Zhen shook his head, "Tell Huai River: sink it."

The order went out over radio. One minute later, Huai River's main gun fired.

Even aboard the Yangtze, one could feel the low rumble. The eight 380‑mm giant guns fired in unison, shaking the sea surface into ripples. The shells flew for over thirty seconds, then—

Hit.

The first near‑miss exploded twenty meters off the ship's port side, the shockwave shattering the porthole. The second hit the bow directly, blowing that section of hull clean off. The third struck the bridge, fire instantly engulfed the upper structure.